"Carol
isn't neglecting me."
"He had it, but he didn't eat it,--and it was fried chicken," said
Carol sadly.
A few minutes later they were at home again, and before Carol had
finished the solemn task of rubbing cold cream into her pretty skin,
David was sleeping heavily, his face flushed, his hands twitching
nervously at times.
Carol stood above him, gazing adoringly down upon him for a while.
Then shutting her eyes, she said fervently:
"Oh, God, do make David less like an angel, and more like other men."
Early the next morning she was up and had steaming hot coffee ready for
David almost before his eyes were open.
"To crowd out that mean little cough that spoils your breakfast," she
said. "I shall keep you in bed to-day."
All morning David lounged around the house, hugging the fireplace, and
complained of feeling cold though it was a warm bright day late in
April, and although the fire was blazing. In the afternoon he took off
his jacket and loosened his collar.
"It certainly is hot enough now," he declared. "Open the windows,
Carol,--I am roasting."
"That is fever," she announced ominously. "Do you feel very badly?"
"Well, nothing extra," he assented grudgingly.
"David, if you love me, let's call a doctor.
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